


Raktajino

by quadrotriticale



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen, POV Julian Bashir, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 23:14:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15254187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quadrotriticale/pseuds/quadrotriticale
Summary: “What are you thinking about?” you ask eventually. She starts a little, looks up at you with wide eyes for a moment before relaxing.“Just… Everything, I guess,” she says, looking back down, this time at her mug.You set your chin on your hand. “Everything?”





	Raktajino

**Author's Note:**

> I just have a lot of feelings about dax

Dax sits across from you at a table in the replimat. This isn’t _Jadzia_ Dax, though, this is _Ezri_ Dax, and you still don’t know how to feel about that. She swirls her drink around in her mug, stares down at a spot on the table. You’re still getting used to her, and she’s still getting used to everything. You try to let her act as a filter for the noise around you, for the assault on your senses that is the promenade itself, the replimat especially, but she doesn’t have the same effect on her surroundings that Jadzia did, that Garak does. Still, you try to focus on her specifically. It does help, though not as much as you'd like it to.

“What are you thinking about?” you ask eventually. She starts a little, looks up at you with wide eyes for a moment before relaxing. 

“Just… Everything, I guess,” she says, looking back down, this time at her mug. 

You set your chin on your hand. “Everything?”

“Well…” she proceeds to tell you at length that she’s thinking about how she can remember the taste of foods she- no, sorry, one of Dax’s previous hosts- used to like, but then when she tries them herself, they taste different, they taste bad, she doesn’t like them like she used to even though she thinks she should. She doesn’t like raktajino anymore, and she likes meat, she says, she knows she does, but Tobin was a vegetarian so every time she tries to eat it she feels like she's doing something wrong. She puts her face in her hands, lets out an exasperated sigh. “You’re supposed to get _years_ of training and counselling before you’re joined, you’re supposed to go through this whole process and I just… I just got stuck with the Dax symbiont, and I don’t know what I’m doing, I have no idea what I’m doing, I don’t even know who I am half the time.” 

“It sounds confusing,” you supply, and she groans.

“It’s _horrible_ ,” she whines, “Julian, it’s _awful_ , sometimes I just cry for no reason and I have to sit there and think about it for an hour and it just turns out I miss someone who’s been dead for 200 years, or- or I don’t figure it out and I’m just sitting there crying and I know it’s a symbiont thing but I can’t figure out- I don’t know what it is! I don’t-” she pauses, huffs, holds her face in her hands, “I’m only twenty four, I mean- I mean, this host is only twenty four- I’m not- _Ezri Tigan_ is twenty four- Oh wow, I hate pronouns- I didn’t know who I was before I was joined! I didn’t have myself figured out! Now it’s- it’s worse, it’s so much worse.”

You lean back in your chair, your mug between your hands. Raktajino has strong smell, one you like, so you hold it a little closer to your face than is maybe normal. You like Tarkalean tea better, definitely, but you need the caffeine right now. “Look on the bright side,” you start, and she looks at you between her fingers. You pause, longer than you intended to. You hadn’t really thought that statement through. “...Actually, I can’t think of a brightside, that sounds horrendous.” 

Ezri laughs at you, sort of keels over and giggles into her hands, and you laugh into your mug. 

“Wow,” she says through giggles, “ _Thanks_ , Julian, you’re _so_ good at this.”

“I’m a beacon of comfort,” you joke, grinning, "I would be an incredible counselor."

"Yeah, _right_." 

She settles down soon, takes a sip of her drink, holds her mug in her hands and swirls the liquid. “No, really though, it’s not all bad. I mean- I mean, the inner turmoil is pretty bad, and I mean, my relationship with my family right now? It’s not great. But- but, I guess- I think this station feels a lot more like home than _home_ ever did and I know that’s a Jadzia thing but I think it’s starting to be an Ezri thing too? And if this didn’t happen to me, I would have never met anyone here, I mean, I wouldn’t know Ben, or you, or Nerys… And all of that is really special to me.” She pauses, and you smile into your mug. “I know- I know I’m not Jadzia, and I can’t be what she was to any of you, but… I like this place, and I like all of you. So, I mean, it’s not all bad.”

“I’m glad something good came of it, then,” you reply, “it was beginning to sound like this has all been nothing but a waking nightmare for you.” 

She laughs, “I mean, it’s definitely been that. It’s really not all bad though, and I mean, I’ll get the hang of myself eventually… Probably. I hope so.”

“I’m sure you will,” you say, an attempt to reassure her. “It’s just got to be a lot to absorb.”

“It really, really is,” she nods, finishes off her drink, sets the mug on the table. “So,” she starts, “should I go up to Ops today, or should I come with you?”

“Technically, your station _is_ in the infirmary, you _do_ have an office in there,” you remind her, teasingly. 

“Oh,” she giggles, “I’d hardly call that an office!”

“But it’s still your office! And you’d better use it too, if you want one at all, we were using it as storage before,” you joke, “space is a premium on this station, you know.” 

“Bite me, Julian,” she rolls her eyes, amused, “I’m going to Ops, I’ll talk to you later.”

She gets up, recycles her cup, and you bid her farewell. You’re quick to leave too, since she takes your buffer with her. 

She’s not Jadzia, but she’s still Dax, and she feels to you in a lot of ways like an old friend. You’re still getting used to her, of course you are, but you’re finally reaching a new normal. 

You hurry across the promenade, mug still in your hand, slip into the infirmary and back into your little corner. It’s quiet there, familiar, and you let yourself relax.


End file.
